Nairi spat in disgust. "Useless cockroaches, you are." She snarled at the last girl standing. "You lead your miserable trio of worms. Drag the other two back to formation." She turned back to the ranks. "Next flight—you three, forward!"
The next flight stepped forward.
More blades swung.
As Tilla stood, watching each trio fight for leadership, she heard wings thudding overhead. She looked up to see a red dragon descend into the square, fire streaming between his teeth. Tilla sucked in her breath and her heart thrashed.
Prince Leresy.
The dragon landed before the phalanx, shook his head, and scattered curtains of smoke. He shifted into human form, placed his hands on his hips, and smiled. His plate armor shone in the dawn, black steel bedecked with gold. His golden hair shone just as bright.
Whispers and gasps flowed across the ranks, and Tilla's heart thudded. Smiling thinly, Prince Leresy stared directly at her—into her—and winked.
"Hail Prince Leresy!" Nairi shouted and slammed her fist against her chest. "Kneel before your prince."
Nairi knelt, fist clutched to heart. The rest of her phalanx, Tilla among them, repeated the salute and knelt too. Tilla kept her head lowered, daring not look up, but she could feel Leresy still staring at her.
Stars, why does he look at me among everyone? she thought. She only wanted to be a good soldier here, to fit in and fly low. And yet wherever she went, it seemed, she attracted trouble like flowers attracted bees.
"Back on your feet!" rose his voice; it was smooth and melodious and still carried the high pitch of youth. "Carry on, please. I've only come to watch my troops, not interfere."
Tilla made the mistake of glancing back at the prince—just a glance—and caught him staring at her. His lips peeled back and he licked his teeth. She looked back at Nairi… just in time to hear the lanse shout her name.
"Tilla Roper!" Nairi pointed her crackling punisher at her. "You and those two dogs of yours—forward! Let's see who among you will sleep tonight, and who will clean nightsoil from a ditch."
Heart pounding, Tilla stepped forward, leaving the formation of her phalanx. The square seemed to spin around her. She felt hundreds of eyes watching her—her fellow recruits, her commander, and her prince. She glanced over her shoulder to see Mae frozen, her face pale, and Erry trying to shove her forward.
"Roper, bring your two whores forward, or you'll taste my fire!" Nairi screamed.
It took some tugging from Tilla, and more pushing from Erry, to bring the trembling Mae out of formation and into the dust of the square. The three recruits stood together, trapped between the rest of their phalanx, Lanse Nairi, and Prince Leresy.
"Draw your swords," Nairi ordered.
Tilla drew her blade. She gave it a few quick swings. It whistled as it sliced the air.
Whenever Tilla had seen soldiers carrying swords—especially wide longswords like this one, their hilts large enough for two hands—she had thought them crude weapons for hacking and slashing. Yet this sword, even blunted, was light and agile. It felt no heavier than waving a sprig of holly. The blade was long and wide but flexible, and despite herself Tilla smiled. For the first time, she thought of soldiers not as brutes hacking with crude chunks of metal, but as artists mastering an ancient dance.
At her side, Erry was waving her sword around, slicing the air. The slim girl seemed just as impressed; her eyes shone, and her lips peeled back in a smile. Mae, however, wasn't even testing her blade; she merely held it before her, and it wobbled like her lip.
I think I'll only have one contender here, Tilla thought.
Nairi took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and seemed ready to order the duel start. Before the lanse could speak, however, the prince interrupted.
"A moment," he said, raising his hand.
Again he was looking straight at Tilla, and her heart thudded. He walked toward her, and Tilla stood frozen before him, sword in hand, not sure if to salute, kneel, or simply stand still.
When Prince Leresy reached her, his lips peeled back in a smile, but it looked hungry, the smile of a wolf. His eyes scanned her from top to bottom; they lingered against her breasts, which pressed against her leather armor. He reached out, fast as a viper, and clutched her wrist.
Tilla gasped.
He's going to kill me, she thought. Stars, I did something wrong, and he's going to kill me now—just like his sister Shari killed the girl back at Cadport.
But Leresy only turned her wrist, adjusting her grip on the sword.
"Here," he said. "Like this. Hold your right hand a little higher on the hilt. Now place your left hand beneath it near the pommel—like that. Give the blade a swing—from top to bottom."
The prince stepped back, and Tilla dutifully swung her sword. Leresy's face split into a grin, and he clapped.
"Splendid!" he said. "Now here, move your left hand to the base of the blade—just above the hilt. Don't worry, it's not sharp. This is called half-swording—a different grip. Give it a try."
Leresy stepped back again, and Tilla gave the blade a few more swings. Holding the sword this way, her thrusts were shorter but more powerful.
"Good!" Leresy said. "You use this one for piercing armor. A strong soldier can break steel this way. Shorter range but tougher punch."
He stepped toward her again and reached between her legs. Tilla gasped, but Leresy only winked and moved her thighs apart.
"Don't get all flustered," he said. "I'm just fixing your stance. Here, like this—legs parted, right leg forward. Try again! This time strike my blade."
He drew his sword and Tilla's eyes widened. His was a beautiful blade. Its dark steel shone with ripples like midnight waves. Its golden, dragonclaw pommel clutched an egg-sized ruby. Tilla hated to attack such a beautiful weapon—what if she chipped it?—but Leresy beckoned her, and so Tilla swung her blade.
He parried. The two swords rang.
"Excellent!" Leresy said. He slammed his sword back into its scabbard. "What's your name, soldier?"
"Tilla," she said. "Tilla Roper."
Leresy nodded. "I'll remember you."
But there was no pride or kindness in his voice; there was only lust. Tilla had served tables at Rune's tavern when she could not sell enough ropes; she had seen such lust in the eyes of many drunkards.
He cares less for blades of steel, she thought, and more for the blade between his legs—one he would thrust into me.
Leresy clutched her shoulder and looked over at Nairi.
"This one is a warrior!" he announced.
Tilla glanced over at her commander… and what she saw chilled her more than Leresy's lust. Pure, blazing fire filled Nairi's eyes. Her cheeks flushed red. Her teeth ground. She stared at Tilla with a look of such unadulterated hatred that Tilla felt herself blanch.
But… but it's not my fault! she wanted to shout out. I didn't ask the prince to speak to me, I…
For the first time, Nairi did not shout. She spoke in a low, venomous hiss, and it seemed to Tilla more cruel than all the screams in the Abyss.
"Let us see the great warrior in action," she said. "Fight!"
Immediately, Erry roared and launched into a wild attack.
Tilla gasped and raised her sword; Erry was charging like an enraged badger disturbed from its den. Yet Tilla parried only air. Erry wasn't attacking her; the diminutive urchin swung her blade against Mae Baker.
Mae squealed. She raised her sword in a useless attempt to parry. Erry's blunt blade slammed against Mae's chest, thudding against the leather armor.
Tears budded in Mae's eyes. She fell to her knees, and her sword thumped into the dust.
"I yield!" she cried and covered her head with her arms. "I yield!"
Roaring, her face red, Erry turned and came charging toward Tilla. Her sword swung in mad arcs.
"Bloody stars!" Tilla cursed and swung her blade.
She had never parried a sword before; she had to learn fast. Her blade checked Erry's onsla
ught. The short, brown-haired girl barely seemed fazed. She leaped back, then charged again, thrusting her sword. All around, the other troops gasped and a few cheered.
Tilla parried again. Stars damn it! Erry was no taller than her shoulders, yet the little beast seemed unstoppable. Her blows kept flying. It was like a rabid rodent attacking a wolf.
The blades clanged. Erry screamed. Her sword swung. The blade slammed down onto Tilla's shoulder.
Pain exploded. Erry's sword was blunt, and Tilla's leather pauldron stopped the blade, but the damn thing hurt. Agony shot down to her fingertips. Erry's blade swung again, and this time Tilla managed to parry, then attack.
Her blade swung. It slammed into Erry's hand.
The dock rat screamed, her fingers opened, and her sword fell.
Tilla kicked the fallen blade; it flew across the square. She breathed raggedly. She lowered her own sword, thinking the battle was over.
She was wrong.
Howling, Erry leaped onto Tilla and clung to her. The little demon bit Tilla's wrist.
"Erry, stars damn it!" Tilla shouted. Her own sword fell into the dust. "Get off."
Erry still clung to her, biting and clawing at her armor, trying to reach her face. Tilla fell to the ground. Erry fell upon her, scratching and screaming, her eyes wild.
"Fantastic!" Prince Leresy called somewhere in the distance.
"Abyss damn it!" Tilla said.
She lay on her back, Erry atop her. This dockside orphan was perhaps half her size, but fast and wild and strong. With a grunt, Tilla kicked and managed to flip herself over. Now Erry lay on her back, Tilla atop her.
"Damn it, Erry!" Tilla said.
The girl squirmed and screamed below her. Tilla cursed and finally managed to pin her down.
"Get off me!" Erry shouted, face red.
"Calm yourself," Tilla said. "Stars, Erry, I'm bigger than you and I have you pinned down. Do you yield?"
Erry stopped struggling. She lay still for a moment and scrunched her lips. She looked from side to side, as if deep in thought, and bit her lip. Finally she flashed a toothy grin.
"All right!" she said brightly. "I yield. Good fight. Now get off me, you lumbering mule, before I bite your face off. You're bloody heavy, you are."
Tilla grabbed her sword, rose to her feet, and helped Erry up. She then approached Mae, who still lay mewling in the dust, and helped her stand too. Tilla felt pride well up inside her. She raised her chin and thrust out her chest.
I won! she thought. I'm flight commander! I've only been a soldier for a few days, and I can already command two others.
She turned toward Nairi, expecting to see the officer give her a grudging nod. But Nairi was still glaring, hatred blazing in her eyes. That glare was so strong Tilla took a step back and swallowed.
She wanted me to lose, she realized.
"Splendid!" Prince Leresy said. He approached and clasped Tilla on the shoulder. "I must be a good teacher. I'll be keeping an eye out for you, Tilla Roper." He leaned down and whispered into her ear. "Perhaps someday you will visit my chamber, and I can give you some private lessons."
Tilla stood stiff and still. Her knees trembled only the slightest. She looked over at Nairi; rage still flamed in the officer's green eyes, but pain dwelled there too, and Tilla understood.
She loves the prince, Tilla thought. Oh stars damn it, Nairi and the prince… and me in the middle. She wanted to shout out. This isn't my fault! I didn't ask for Leresy's affections!
"Well!" the prince said. "I've seen enough for one day. Lanse Nairi, keep up the good work. You'll whip these girls into warriors yet."
With that, the prince shifted back into a red dragon, took flight with a cloud of smoke, and disappeared over the walls.
When the smoke and dust settled, Tilla turned back toward Nairi, hesitating. She gasped to see the lanse draw her punisher, snarl, and come marching toward her.
"Lanse Nairi," Tilla began, "I—"
Nairi drew her sword, slammed Tilla's blade aside, and drove her punisher forward.
Pain exploded across Tilla's chest.
She couldn't help it. She screamed and fell to her knees.
"You were to fight with swords," Nairi said through clenched teeth, shoving her punisher against Tilla. "I teach swordplay, not wrestling, you seaside scum."
Tilla gasped for breath. Lightning flowered across her. She screamed again. She tried to clutch at Nairi's wrists, to push the punisher back, but her arms felt rubbery like loose skin.
"Please!" she tried to say, but screams drowned her words.
Tilla fell onto her back and writhed in the dust.
"Please, no!" somebody called behind her.
"Lanse Nairi, please!" cried another soldier.
Tilla could barely hear them. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Nairi knelt above her, snarling, twisting her punisher as if trying to shove the rod through Tilla's chest. Smoke rose from her. Tilla's eyes rolled back. Darkness, pain, and fire flowed over her world.
RUNE
"Again!" Valien barked and thrust his wooden sword.
Cursing, Rune tried to block the attack. His own practice weapon blocked Valien's. A second thrust flew. Rune checked the blow; the two wooden blades clanked. The third thrust slammed into his chest, and Rune gasped and fell back two steps.
"Dead again," Valien said in disgust. "If I were Frey Cadigus, you wouldn't last five heartbeats."
Valien Eleison, leader of the Resistance, stood clad in a steel breastplate, tan breeches, and leather boots. Sweat matted his grizzled hair and clung to his stubble like dew to grass.
"If you were Frey Cadigus," Rune said, "I would shift into a dragon and burn your arse."
Rune wiped sweat off his brow. He wore a breastplate too, but Valien's thrusts—even with a wooden sword—left his chest aching. He imagined that bruises spread beneath the steel.
Valien spat into the dust. "Dragon? Frey Cadigus dwells deep in his fortress; its corridors are too small for dragons. You'd have to fight his guards foot by foot, man by man. I doubt you'd slay one before they captured you."
The ruins of Confutatis sprawled around them, a hodgepodge of fallen columns, the shells of towers, crumbled walls, and countless bricks strewn across dead grass. It was a tapestry all in whites, tans, yellows, and grays. Men and women of the Resistance, clad in robes the colors of these ruins, stood upon what remained of the walls and towers. They bore swords of real steel, and they clutched bows. They said nothing. They only watched.
Rune growled, raised his wooden sword, and swung it at Valien.
The older man scowled, knocked the blow aside, and slammed his wooden blade against Rune's shoulder.
"Stars damn it!" Rune cursed.
Valien snarled and whacked Rune's shoulder again. "Never curse by your stars. Your stars saved your life, boy. That's more than your skill with the sword would do, it seems."
Rune tossed that sword down, spat, and glared at Valien.
"It isn't fair!" he said. "You've been fighting all your life. You were a knight. I was a brewer until a moon ago."
"Pick up your sword," Valien said. His eyes blazed and his face reddened. "It isn't fair? Life's not fair, boy. Was it fair when Frey slew your parents? Was it fair when he toppled this city? Was it fair when my w—" The grizzled warrior stopped himself and gritted his teeth. "Life is cruel and death is crueler. You can cry about how things aren't fair, or you can stand tall and make things fair."
Rune stared at the man. Rage flared inside him like dragonfire. You are why I'm here! Rune wanted to shout. You sent Kaelyn to drag me out of my home, to take me here, to…
As fast as it had flared, his rage dissipated. He thought back to the night with Kaelyn in the rain. That sword—the Amber Sword of Aeternum—stood against a fallen statue only feet away.
Make things fair.
Rune grumbled, reached down to his fallen wooden sword, and lifted it.
"The wooden sword's too heavy," he said. "The Amber Sword
is light and fast. I could parry assaults with that one."
Valien's face softened, and he sighed and nodded. "The wooden sword needs to be heavy," he said. "It will strengthen you. When you've trained with thick wood, thin steel will seem lighter than air. You are right, Relesar Aeternum. Until a moon ago, you were only Rune Brewer, not a warrior, and I've been swinging swords for longer than you've lived. But now you are a warrior. Now you too will fight. I will bruise you here, Rune, until your body aches so badly, you will even dream of pain. But it will make you strong." Valien smiled thinly. "When training is hard, the battle is easy."
"I don't want to fight any battle," Rune said.
Valien clasped his shoulder. "Nor do any good men. A brute craves battle. A coward flees from it. The wise man hates war, but will fight to defend what he loves."
"And what do we defend, Valien?" Rune asked. "What do we love?" He swept his arm around. "A pile of ruins? Bricks and broken statues?"
"An idea," Valien said. "A memory. A story as old as starlight. We defend the light of Requiem, even as darkness closes in around us. We defend the heart and soul of our people. And that, Rune, is one battle I am willing to fight."
Rune thought about this for a moment. Valien's words rang true to him. Rune too wanted to fight for light, for the soul of Requiem, and for justice. And yet… he wondered. Valien's men—some said Valien himself—had slain Tilla's brother. The Resistance had slain many legionaries. Those soldiers had not been bloodthirsty worshippers of the red spiral. They had been humble farmers and tradesmen—people like his friends from Cadport—torn from their homes, given swords, and sent to die. Frey was evil and deserved death, but could the same be said for his soldiers, the youths the Resistance killed?
Can light shine in a kingdom so shadowed in death? Rune wondered. Can we ever light the beacons of justice after shedding so much blood?
He did not know. But he nodded. Fighting was something, he thought—fighting was standing up, flying onward, and making a change. That, Rune thought, was still better than hiding in shadows.
Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he wiped it with his hand, then raised his wooden sword again.
A Legacy of Light (The Dragon War, Book 1) Page 18
